Jim Spurling, Fisherman: or Making Good — John Shaqi
Jim Spurling, Fisherman: or Making GoodTolman, Albert Walter
General
Jim Spurling, Fisherman: or Making Good
Tolman, Albert Walter
Fisheries -- Juvenile fiction; Maine -- Juvenile fiction
"Percy," said he, "that was the best piece in the whole steak. I saw you
saving it until the last. Too bad, old man! Now you'll have to eat crow
to get it."
"I'll wring that thief's neck if I can catch him," vowed the angry
Whittington.
"Guess we can trust Oso not to leave his neck lying round where you can
get hold of it," observed Lane. "Come on! Let's you and I wash the
dishes!"
"Dishes nothing!" snarled Percy.
Stalking out, he gathered a handful of convenient pebbles and lay in
wait for the culprit. But the crow had disappeared.
"I'll get even with him later," muttered Whittington.
He remained sulkily outside, taking no part in clearing away the
supper-table. At half past seven the others joined him.
"Feeling better, old man?" queried Lane, solicitously.
"Fall in, Whittington," said Jim. "We're going on a tour of inspection."
"Wait a minute," remarked Lane. "We've had our house-warming. The next
thing is to christen the place."
Dragging out a soap-box, he mounted it, produced from his pocket a piece
of red chalk, and traced in large letters over the door, "CAMP
SPURLING."
"Now we're off!" said he. "Welcome to our city! Watch us grow!"
"Come on!" urged Jim. "We want to look the island over before dark."
The party walked west along the sea-wall and proceeded in single file up
a steep path to the highest part of the promontory.
"Brimstone Point," said Jim. "Best view on the island from here."
He began pointing out its different features.
"That little nubble almost west, sticking up so black against the
sunset's Seal Island. Matinicus is right behind it. Up there on the
horizon, just a trifle west of north, are the Camden Hills; you look
exactly over Vinalhaven to see them. North across the pasture is Isle au
Haut that we came by this afternoon. Beyond is Stonington. About time
the lights were lit--Yes, there's Saddleback! See it twinkling west of
Isle au Haut. Now look sharp a little south of west and you'll see
Matinicus Rock glimmering; two lights, but they seem like one from here.
Wouldn't think they were almost a hundred feet above water, would you?
They look pretty good to a man when he's running in from outside on a
dark night."
It was a magnificent evening, the air clear as crystal, the sky without
a cloud. Gulls were wheeling and screaming about the promontory, their
cries mingling with the rote of surf at its base. Sheep bleated from the
pasture. A hawk sailed slowly in from the ocean and disappeared in the
woods behind the eastern point. From under the boys' feet rose the
fragrance of sweet grass and pennyroyal. Tall mullein stalks reared
their spires on the hillside; and here and there were little plats white
with thick strawberry blossoms.
The boys gazed their fill. Gradually the red sky darkened and the stars
began to come out. Saddleback and Matinicus Rock gleamed more brightly.
A cool breeze from the south sprang up. Jim roused himself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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